


The Many Names and Titles of Tubbo Underscore

by raxzity



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Gen, Oneshot, POV Second Person, Ram Hybrid Toby Smith | Tubbo, Toby Smith | Tubbo-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:40:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29568336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raxzity/pseuds/raxzity
Summary: Tubbo has been called many things over the years.
Kudos: 62





	The Many Names and Titles of Tubbo Underscore

You’ve been called many things over the years.

A traitor. That’s what he called you as he and his Vice placed walls around you, suffocating you slowly. You felt like you couldn’t breathe. He was shouting so loudly. You couldn’t take it. You were already short of breath as you stood at his side, trying to stare straight forward and not up at the building to your right, housing two men who weren’t supposed to be there; watching you intently just like the rest of the crowd. As you read off the imaginary script in your head, counting the lines until everything started and ended all at once. This wasn’t how you expected this to go. Now you can’t breathe and there’s so much noise that your brain starts to block it out. Then there’s a man you trusted, standing in front of you. He’s holding a rocket launcher, the loaded end of which rests at your chest. Everything gets a little blurry. You vaguely recall more shouting, whispered reassurances, and a mumbled apology before suddenly you hear something clearly again, a loud pop. And then you can’t breathe at all.

Schlatt. That’s what they called you. More and more people started calling you his name. People you loved and trusted and had known for years. Until eventually you were calling yourself it, too. You bit back a sad laugh as the name left your throat. You don’t know why. It wasn’t funny. Or maybe it was. The way the horns on your head were only growing bigger, almost seeming as though they grew every time you found yourself being compared to him. The way your best friend looked at you as he was dragged away again by what might as well have been your own hands. The way the young man standing in front of you’s hands trembled slightly as he hung up streamers, just like yours had. The way you had already spent countless nights sobbing into your hands in your office; until you had no more tears left. The way that, as more and more people left you, the more and more their words felt true; became true. You felt this change in an instant as you looked your Vice dead in the eye and refused his request for the young traitor’s blood.

The Worst President L’Manberg has ever had. That’s what he called you. You felt the ash beneath your feet, having lost one of your shoes in battle, as you fell to your knees. Despite the sight in front of you, your eyes feel completely dry. You’re numb at this point, to near apathy. It’s been like this for a while. Your best friend walks up next to you, sitting down. Neither of you say anything. You don’t need to. There aren’t any words to describe how you feel, and you both know it. You lean your head on his shoulder and he responds by putting his hand on your leg. You sit there and watch the burning remnants of the country you used to love together.

A pawn. That’s what he called you. Always the sidekick, always the pushover, always the one for others to move around. You wiped your best friend's tears as he tried to convince you otherwise, tried to convince you to stay. But you knew. You were ready. You were tired. You were done. you step forward but are suddenly stopped by a voice, and then many voices. And then it’s finally done, but in a completely different way. This wasn’t how you expected this to go. Soon after, you're sitting on a bench, listening to music. The music makes you want to cry, despite having run out of tears long ago. You’re thinking about what you’re gonna do now that life carries on. You think about chess, for some reason. “What happens when a pawn crosses the board?” Your mind suddenly gives you. Later, you find yourself in a warm parka looking over blueprints you had drawn yourself, finally carving your own path.

You found yourself agreeing with all of these names and titles. And yet, you grew out of them.


End file.
